


The Cook and his Daughter

by ArielAquarial



Series: Family of Three [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Castiel in historical clothing, Castiel is Claire Novak's Parent, Cute Kids, Good Friend Charlie Bradbury, M/M, Meet-Cute, Parent Castiel, Professor Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 17:07:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15934730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArielAquarial/pseuds/ArielAquarial
Summary: “Oh, shit.” Charlie hissed. “Is that her dad?”And oh shit was right. The man was tall, at least Deans height, which Dean absolutely loved. There was nothing worse than giving yourself neck problems trying to kiss someone. He had dark brown hair that practically glowed in the harsh afternoon sun, sweat from the heat of the fire making it stick to his forehead. He had a strong brow, casting his hooded eyes into shadow, and what Dean wouldn’t give to see his eyes…he’d bet they were breathtaking.“Hello, daddy.” Dean murmured to Charlie.“The thirst.” She giggled back as they watched the man walk over. “Better than soldier boy?”“Who?” He asked, only half serious.





	The Cook and his Daughter

**Author's Note:**

> They say to write what you know, so here we go. I was a part of the Old Fort Macarthur Days event this year (yes, I dressed up and everything. Yes, those are pictures I took) and it gave me this idea. I've been planning on writing a family fic for a while, so here it is! this is just the beginning...
> 
> Claire is 4 because I have a 4 year old. She gives me plenty of material.
> 
> I was planning on finishing my other series before I started this, but I was just feeling this one a lot more.

 

“Don’t make me talk to anyone, Charlie.” Dean mumbled, sidestepping a woman walking around with a fluffy dress and parasol.

“Come on, Dean!” She threw her arm over his shoulder, dragging him further down the path. “How is this any different from the Renaissance Faire? You loved it there! There was even a Tristan and Yvaine there, remember? That was awesome.”

“Because I got to be a knight.” He admitted. “And here, I’m just the guy who doesn’t know anything about history! These people know their shit…I’m going to look dumb.”

She scoffed. “You didn’t know anything about the renaissance either.”

“Yeah, but that was at the Faire. There were fairy’s there, it was fantasy. The only people who had on accurate clothing were the people who worked there.”

“Oh trust me, Dean. I remember the fairies…” She winked at him. “I remembered Gilda all night.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. “Still…”

She finally stopped them. “Listen, I’ll do all of the talking. You’re just here to…” She paused. “Well, you’re just here because I asked very nicely.”

“Very nicely…” he repeated, his eyebrows rising incredulously. “Charles, you didn’t even say please. You knocked on my door this morning and told me I was going…you’re lucky I’m even dressed.”

She patted him gently on his shoulder. “There, there, Dean. I’m feeling _so_ sorry for you right now. Remember, I saw you checking out that World War hottie…”

“I wasn’t checking him out.” He grumbled. “What about you, huh? What was her name? Dorothy?”

Charlie smirked. “What? She had that whole Peggy Carter thing going on. I couldn’t help myself. Besides, I got her number. Later on she’s going to fill me in on the Social Security Act of 1935, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh god, Charlie.” He shook his head. “Its like this everywhere you go…”

“I got game with the ladies, I know.” She shrugged as if it was nothing. “You, on the other hand, have zero game unless you’re half drunk.”

“I can pick up a guy sober!” he argued. “I’ve done it plenty of times.”

She leveled him with a stare. “Who was the last guy you didn’t pick up at a bar?”

He opened his mouth to answer, but found he couldn’t. Shit. He really couldn’t remember the last guy he had gone on a date with, let alone _not_ met at a bar. “Well…”

She ignored him and began their walk. Thankfully, the stairs leading down to the next half of the event were in sight. “I offered to talk to him, Dean. Remember that when you’re old and alone.”

“Ouch.” He laughed. Ok, he _had_ been checking out that American soldier. It was the hat, ok. There was something just sexy about that hat, it even made him ignore the puffy pants. It didn’t help that the man had blue eyes either, Dean had always been a sucker for blue eyes.

They paused at the top of the stairs and stood under the shade for a moment. Dean wiped at his sweaty brow. “Damn. Its fucking hot. How do these guys stand it?”

“Girls too.” She corrected. “And at least these next guys have it easier. We’re coming into the 19th century which involves a lot of cotton and linen, and then the 18th century is next. They use pretty much _only_ linen. That shit _breathes,_ but its also a bitch to work with. That’s my favorite time to sew for. The petticoats are easy and the bodices bring in the cash.”

Dean watched as Charlie pulled out her business cards and began the journey down the stairs. Her Etsy shop had exploded recently, and it was all due to her determination and networking abilities. It also helped that she was a wizard at making clothing. Who knew that people would pay thousands of dollars for handmade historical clothing? She once sold a handmade wool replica of General Washington’s coat for three thousand dollars. When he found out, he could do nothing but stare at her. “It was mostly the buttons…” she admitted. “It took hours to sew the button holes by hand. Do you know how many buttons go on a military coat like that? Too damn many. And then there’s the materials, and the time it takes to hand sew…” she had continued, but Dean hadn’t been able to listen past his amazement that she sold a jacket for three thousand dollars. A Jacket. Deans favorite leather jacket had only cost him $350.

Charlie often went out on tangents involving clothing, just like he could talk for days about car restorations. She had a business to run, Dean knew, so he had no problem tagging along with her when she did her little trips. Besides, he often benefitted from her talent. Case and point: his many Renaissance Faire and Moondoor outfits.

She didn’t even stop to orient herself at the bottom of the stairs, she just walked straight up to the nearest roped off area and began chatting up the closest person. Dean stood by awkwardly and watched, eventually getting pulled away by a nice old lady in a large skirted dress (Seriously, how did these people wear this stuff in the heat?) who had introduced herself as "Missouri Moseley, darling" and led him to where she had a candle making station set up. He hadn’t the heart to tell her no, so he sat between a bored looking teenager and a six year old, and dipped that stupid string in the wax a million times.

By the time his candle had made it to about a half inch thick, Charlie had sided her way up to the candle booth.

“What a lovely colonial dress you’re wearing! Did you make it?” Dean tuned out the conversation, knowing exactly what was coming next. Almost every time, the answer to that was yes. Most reenactors made their own clothes, but at the same time, most weren’t opposed to buying it if the quality was good and the price was reasonable. Charlie was both.

At about an inch thick, Dean was finally pulled away from the candle ladies with a "Come back tomorrow, now" from Mrs. Moseley, and to the next area. The lumpy candle went into his pocket and he prayed that the heat wouldn’t melt it into his denim. He followed Charlie from encampment to encampment, hanging out mostly to the side, preferring to just watch everyone bustle around and do their tasks. He really preferred not to talk to anyone since he feared that he would get roped into some kind of history lesson. They seemed like just the kind of people to do that.

Nearing the next encampment, the path cleared for a battalion of roman soldiers who were walking down the path, shouting for space. He leaned into Charlie. “This is so weird…” he whispered into her ear as he watched them march down the sidewalk. One the bright side, a few of them had fantastic legs.

“I love it.” She admitted. “You get to see all sorts of people interact. Back where they had the horse, there were a few Vikings talking to Suffragettes. Where else can you see that?”

He shook his head. “Ok, its kinda cool.”

She elbowed him with a smile and took a chug of her water bottle before continuing.

“Oh my gosh! Dean, look at the little girl in her little dress! So sweet!” she grabbed Deans arm and pointed into an encampment where a little girl was sitting on a seat, a red apple in one hand and a small homemade doll in the other. Her blond hair fell messily out of her white cap, and a bit of dirt smeared her face, but Dean would be lying if he said she wasn’t absolutely adorable. “I love seeing kids at these things! Ah, I want to make her a dress so bad! And look at those cheeks!”

He couldn’t help but smile too, offering the girl a little wave when she glanced his way. She ducked her head shyly and ran off, going straight for a man who was tending a fire. Sausages hung from hooks, cooking over the flames and attracting the crowd like moths to the literal flame. That was one way to attract some visitors, he thought to himself, make the whole place smell like cooking meat. The girl barreled into his leg, knocking him slightly off balance. When he finally straightened, he picked her up and listened to her as she whispered into her ear.

The man turned around and glanced their way.

“Oh, shit.” Charlie hissed. “Is that her dad?”

And oh shit was right. The man was tall, at least Deans height, which Dean absolutely loved. There was nothing worse than giving yourself neck problems when you’re trying to kiss someone. He had dark brown hair that practically glowed in the harsh afternoon sun, sweat from the heat of the fire making it stick to his forehead. He had a strong brow, casting his hooded eyes into shadow, and what Dean wouldn’t give to see his eyes…he’d bet they were breathtaking. He was wearing a loose fitted collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal tanned forearms, a sleeveless waistcoat resting on top, the shirt tucked into what he knew were called breeches. Off white socks connected the tan breeches into some truly uncomfortable looking buckled black shoes.

“Hello, daddy.” Dean murmured to Charlie.

“The thirst.” She giggled back as they watched the man walk over. “Better than soldier boy?”

“Who?” He asked, only half serious.

The man was nearly upon them now, his daughter tucked into his hip. And fuck, his eyes were blue. Like crazy blue. They put poor soldier boy to shame.

“Hello.” The man rasped in a crazy deep voice. He had a small smear of black high on his cheekbone, and a few dark stains added authenticity his outfit.

Dean could do nothing but stare at him. He could feel Charlie glance at him, and then thankfully she took over. “Hiya! I couldn’t help but notice that cutie. Is she your daughter?”

The man smiled, his full lips tilting up in pleasure. “Yes, she’s my daughter.” He bopped the child on her nose. “Did you hear that? They think you’re adorable.”

“Thank you.” She whispered in embarrassment, her chubby cheeks turning pink as she clutched the doll to her chest.

“Your dress is beautiful.” Charlie told her with a smile.

She perked up, “I helped daddy!”

Charlie leaned in, offering her a wink. “Well, you two did a great job!”

“You sew?” Dean blurted out. Both the man and Charlie turned their attention to Dean, and he clamped his mouth shut so he wouldn’t embarrass himself further. Of course he sews, Dean thought to himself, his kid literally said that she helped him. Hell, he _knew_ most of these people made their own clothes.

He nodded, shifting her to the other hip. “Yes. It’s much more economical to ‘D-I-Y’ it.”

Oh shit, he finger quoted it and everything. Dean was already gone. “That’s cool. Charlie-” he jerked his chin in her direction. “-sews too. She has an Etsy and everything.”

The man set his daughter down and offered Charlie his hand. “Nice to meet you, Charlie. My name is Castiel.”

She shook his hand and pointed to Dean. “This is my friend, Dean.”

Castiel turned his blue eyes to Dean. “Its nice to meet you.”

Dean smiled at him. “Hey.”

Castiel turned back to Charlie. “Do you have a business card? I try to do as much as I can myself, but I occasionally don’t have the time.”

She handed him a Card, and Deans eyes wandered as they started talking business. God, he looked great. Dean loved a man in a tight shirt and nice jeans, of course, but there was always something about a man dressed up in historical clothing that was just so…sexy. Maybe is was due to the period movies Charlie made him watch…Darcy anyone? Colin Firth climbing out of that lake had been dream fuel for weeks. And god, his ass looked tight. He could probably bounce a quarter off of that masterpiece. And then there was the white socks that were emphasizing his muscular calves.

“I make women’s clothing, cloaks, petticoats, pockets and lots of other stuff, so your daughter or her mother can have some stuff made by me too…”

“No mother. Its just me.” He told her.

Deans attention snapped back fully to the conversation.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Charlie murmured, her cheeks tinting pink. “Another father?”

He shook his head. “Not anymore.”

“Well, here’s another card anyways for anyone else at your camp that might want it.”

He smiled politely and took the card. “I’ll make sure to ask around.”

Now that he knew that there wasn’t a Mrs. Castiel or even another man around although he was clearly open to it, he couldn’t pass up the chance to give it a shot. He cleared his throat, drawing Castiel’s attention. “So, Cas- can I call you Cas?”

The man shrugged. “That is fine.”

“Well, Cas.” He smirked at the man, and heard Charlie snort quietly from his side. “What got you into all of this?” If there was one thing that Dean knew about reenactors, it was that this was the easiest way to get on their good side.

Cas’s face lit up, his lips parting in a smile. “I’m a history professor, actually.” He answered, as if that was all the answer Dean needed, and he supposed it was.

Dean smiled at him. “That’s cool. Do you ever see your students at places like this?”

The man chuckled. “Not as often as I’d like, but yes…occasionally I run into my students. I’ve even gotten a few of them to join in on the fun. Alfie-” he pointed to a man that was clearly napping in a canvas hammock someone hung in the shade. “He was one of mine. Its very rewarding to see your students partaking in events like this.”

“I bet.” Dean agreed. “How many of these do you go to?”

Cas paused to think. “As many as I can. My particular group does one every couple months. It keeps me busy. I’m also part of a sewing group that meets up once a month, and a civil war group. They are further towards the entrance.”

“Why aren’t you with them?” Dean asked curiously.

Cas shook his head with a smile. “Did you see what they were wearing? It broke 100 today, Dean. I join them in the winter. Well, as much of a winter we have down here…”

Dean chuckled. “Makes sense. Its hot out here, how are you guys staying cool?”

“Well, I just try to stay in the shade. My daughter, on the other hand, has a neckerchief that I’ve been dipping in ice water to keep her cool.”

“Smart.”

They were interrupted when Cas’s daughter sliding up to Cas’s leg and gripping onto his breeches. He picked her up with an indulgent smile. “Meet Claire.”

He smiled at her and held out his hand. “Hello, little lady. I’m Dean.”

She reached out slowly and gripped his hand with a giggle. “Hi, Dean.”

Cas looked pleased. “He’s my new friend. Remember him? His girlfriend-” He glanced at Dean to double check, and Dean shook his head, mouthing the word ‘friend’. “His friend liked your dress, remember?”

She nodded. “It has flowers.”

“Yes it does.” Dean agreed. Oh god, she was cute.

“And my shoes.” She reached down to pull up her dress, and Cas swayed with the shift. “Dey’re black.”

“They’re very pretty.” He told her.

Claire smiled at him, her chubby cheeks dimpling. “Yeah.” She agreed. “Like princess Rapunzel.”

Dean was pretty sure Rapunzel didn’t wear shoes, but he wasn’t about to break the little girl’s heart. “I love them.”

She giggled. “Tank you.”

Dean looked up at Cas with a smile. “How old is she?”

“Four.” He answered.

“She’s cute.” Dean met the mans eyes.

Cas nodded slowly. “Do you like children?”

Dean smiled, teeth bared in triumph. If that wasn’t the man showing interest, then Dean didn’t know what was. “I do. I have a niece her age, although Claire is definitely more talkative. Emma would never have talked to a stranger. She’d be hiding in all of the tents.”

“Yes. She loves the sound of her voice.” He gave the canvas tents an annoyed look. “Its actually hotter in those right now, but they’re great at night.

“You’re sleeping here?” he asked, surprised at the thought.

“Yes. We don’t live too far, but its just easier. Claire loves camping too…” he jostled his daughter in his hip. “Don’t you?”

She nodded solemnly. “Dere are bugs…and da dance.”

“Dance?”

Cas smiled. “There is always a dance hosted when it gets dark. Even those who go home for the night stay for it. We don’t attend the whole time, isn’t that right Claire-bear?” he asked and she nodded in agreement. “She has an early bedtime.”

“Too bad I can't come.” Dean flirted. “I’d probably ask you to dance.”

Cas smirked at him. “I’d probably say yes…”

They looked at each other for a moment, eyes locked and goofy smiles on their faces.

That was how Charlie found them. “Oh, ok…” She mumbled, glancing back and forth between the two. “I’ll just go visit the vikings…I’ll take my time.”

He nodded, not glancing away from Cas’s face. “Sounds good.”

“You know…I was going to take Claire down to visit the Suffragettes. Their group is making cloth dolls with the children and she would love it. Would you like to come?”

Deans smirk widened impossibly. “Sure.”

Cas set Claire down and gripped her hand, yelling to Alfie that he was leaving for a bit, before leading her out of the encampment. “Are you going to be coming back tomorrow?” He asked, a shy smile on his face as they weaved their way through the crowd.

Dean smiled back and gave him a quick wink. “You bet.”

Claire squealed before taking off towards the horse Dean had avoided earlier, and Cas huffed before chasing after her. Dean smiled, walking in their direction with a smile on his face. He could definitely get used to this.

**Author's Note:**

> If you go back and look at the pictures, one is the view from where they stopped for shade at the top of the stairs (you can even see the horse next to the tree) and the other is the Romans walking by our encampment.
> 
> Comment to let me know if you liked it!


End file.
